Please Save Me

This precipice is endless and
the abyss is encompassing
my senses. Every instance of my
attempted existence is
a rendezvous with déjà vu
and my life is worthless.
My wrists are itching;
I can turn my car into
a weapon of massive self destruction;
if I did it right, my xyphoid
process could puncture my lung;
but I am too lethargic to take it
to the next level so I wait
for this edge to
collapse me over it.

I wanted the hatred,
I craved the opposition,
I told myself
it's natural to want the war.
I'm begging me to
hurt me.

I screamed and no one
heard me and now my hope
is an ugly injury covering
every inch of visible skin
and it will not heal
and it hurts and it hurts and it hurts.
I am the monster I made.

Can you feel my lack of hope?
Because, now, it is the only
thing to me that's real.